


she’s a maneater

by portions_forfox



Category: 30 Rock
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-16
Updated: 2013-04-16
Packaged: 2017-12-08 15:44:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/763116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/portions_forfox/pseuds/portions_forfox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Conan wasn't the only Late Night host she dated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	she’s a maneater

**Author's Note:**

  * For [arbitrarily](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arbitrarily/gifts).



There used to be this saying around 30 Rock—only it was more like an old, trusted Chinese proverb—that you’re not a real Late Night host until you’ve made out with Liz Lemon. When Jimmy first got this show Conan toured him around the set, kind of being all nostalgic and bittersweet and stuff, and Jimmy was like, “What do you do if a guest cancels at the last minute?” and Conan was like, “Oh, you just call TGS and have them send down one of their cast members. The not-crazy one. Josh. Or Danny. Or something.”

“Call TGS?” Jimmy tilted his head. “What is—like, who at TGS?”

Conan got super stiff all of the sudden. He frowned and straightened up taller, and he already towered over Jimmy by, like, a lot, so this wasn’t helping.

“Elizabeth Lemon,” he whispered, weirdly—then he visibly shook it off, turned to Jimmy and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Good luck with that, son.”

 

 

 

 

 

A few months in, Jauntis—Jimmy’s, like, super buff twentysomething assistant, don’t even ask—knocks on his office door and goes, “Um, hey man, there’s a call for you?” 

Jimmy looks up at him, blankly.

“Do you want me to like…” Jauntis continues, really  _searching_ for that elusive word: “…transfer it or something?”

_There_ it is. “Who is it?”

“It’s, uhhhhh…” Jauntis looks down at his notepad. It literally takes him a full six seconds to read  _his own message_ . “…David Letterman?”

“David L—are you fucking kidding me?” Jimmy’s knees hit the desk trying to get out from behind his computer, and then the keyboard gets knocked off, and then Jimmy scrambles to pick it up, and he’s like, “David fucking Letterman, are you sure? Are you sure it’s not like, David Spade? David Sedaris? King David of Israel?”

Jauntis doesn’t really  _do_ humor. “Um, no, I think it’s David Letterman.”

Jimmy stands up, brings a hand up to scratch the back of his neck and lets the other one rest on his hip. “Okay, well, yeah man, transfer the call.”

Jauntis stands in the doorway.

“Fine, I’ll come out there.”

He storms into the writers’ room and picks up the phone. “Hello?”

“Hello, is this Jimmy Fallon?”

“Yes.” Jimmy winces immediately. _Yes_ isn't funny, is it? Like, real comedians don't say _yes_. They totally say _yeah_. Or _you got it_. Or _that's right, bro_. Whatever it is, it's not _yes_.

“Finally?”

“Yeah, it’s—yeah.” Jimmy side-eyes Jauntis, who’s coming his hair in a mini-mirror.

“Jimmy, my boy,” says David Letterman, who has never met Jimmy, his boy. “How goes it?”

“Like…” Jimmy clarifies, feeling stupid, “…life?”

David Letterman laughs at him, but like, not in the good way. Shit. “No, actually, Fallon, I was referring to the show you’re hosting.”

“The…Late Night?”

“Is that what it’s called?”

Jimmy laughs nervously. David Letterman is a funny guy. “It’s good. I enjoy it. I enjoy hosting. Being host.”

“Ah,” David Letterman says, like a wise old guru. Like a seasoned master of the martial arts. Like a man who’s weathered not only the communization of China but also the death of his own wife and son and yeah basically Jimmy’s going off _Karate Kid_ here. “But are you really the host, or are you just  _hosting_ ?”

“I’m,” Jimmy says, “what?”

“There’s a difference, you know.”

“There is?”

“Absolutely,” says David Letterman. “Anyone can host Late Night. But to be the  _true_ Late Night host?” He makes a whistling noise Jimmy can’t replicate. “Takes some certain steps to get to that point.”

“It does?” Jimmy asks, earnest, and he totally hasn’t cracked a joke this entire time but like,  _dude_ , this is  _Letterman_ , aka the Jedi Master, aka Anakin Skywalker, aka The Defector. Oh god. “Like, what steps? What do I have to do?”

David Letterman clears his throat. “Son,” he says, “have you ever met a lady called Liz Lemon?”

 

 

 

 

 

So, Jimmy actually  _has_ met a lady called Liz Lemon, and it was pretty anticlimactic. Pretty early on he went over there one time to ask if they had a set piece he could borrow for that night’s show and Frank with the hat directed him to the door of Liz’s office, and he knocked. He heard her say, “Come in,” and he stepped inside (dude, it was just like  _his_ office in there, only smaller than his, and with a more potent scent of meatballs). She didn’t even look up, just kept typing at her computer.

  
“Is this about the missing iguana?” She started talking, still typing at lightning speed. “Because we’re  _pretty_ sure Jeremy just wanted to poop on Lutz’s desk—a good choice—and even  _if_ that intern claims she has PTSD from witnessing it go down, it was definitely within our legal boundaries, so—oh.” She’s looked up.  
  
“Hi.”  
  
“Hey.”  
  
Jimmy slides his hands into his pockets. “Sorry,” he says, cocking his head, “but—who did you think I was?”  
  
“Oh, um,” she closes her laptop and smooths her hair back. It kind of…doesn’t help? She has a weird side thing going on with her haircut and it doesn’t really work with her face shape. Or her clothing choices. Jimmy did not know a black T-shirt could be so copiously stained before this moment. “Jack.”  
  
“Donaghy?”  
  
“No, the Ripper.”  
  
“Who—what?”  
  
“It was—a joke,” she says, shaking her head and waving her wrist in dismissal. “Never mind.”  
  
He hesitates. He’s not really sure if he should go there yet, but judging by the swipe of spaghetti sauce on her cheek she seems like the type who could stomach a little toilet humor. “Sorry, it’s just—” he says, “whenever someone says ‘Jack the Ripper’ I automatically get this image of a guy who gets sentenced to prison for just, like,  _really_ bad farts. He just keeps lettin’ ’em rip. Hence,” he waves his arms in a circular motion, “Jack the Ripper.”  
  
Liz laughs, this little guffaw of air pushing out her cheeks. “Farts that are just like, so nasty it’s criminal?”  
  
“Right, like, dude, we know you haven’t actually committed any felony, but this is just getting out of hand.”  
  
“Like, we’ve got to make it stop.”  
  
“Before someone gets seriously hurt.”  
  
“So if you could just…stay in prison, that would be—” she cracks a smile “—really cool of you.”  
  
“Take one for the team.”  
  
Jimmy acts out walking into a prison cell, waves his hand—“Oh, for sure, no problem. I’ll just stay here. I can really let ’em go now, I was like, holding back.”  
  
Liz laughs again, and Jimmy laughs too. Her laugh’s a little weird, not attractive in the way a lady laugh is supposed to be attractive. But not terrible, all the same. She rubs at her eyes with the back of her hand, and her glasses skew off her nose so when she looks back up at him her gaze is a little lopsided. And maybe Jimmy can start to see why his predecessors liked her so much.  
  
“So, um,” she clears her throat, “what did you come up here for?”  
  
She lets him borrow the set piece.  
  
Next week on TGS, the Jack the Ripper sketch airs.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
For a few months there—it was like, fall of 2010? His first full season?—he made a habit of going up to TGS to ask for set pieces way more than was necessary. It got to the point where this one time Steve was like, “Jimmy, seriously, we already  _have_ a game show light-up board that says ‘Poop’ on it, what do you need TGS’s for?” And Jimmy played it cool like, “Oh, we do? Oh. Cool, awesome. Love it. Great,” and then Steve gave him a look and was like, “Is it Cerie?” and looked around like anyone was listening before leaning in and whispering, “ _We all know about Cerie_ .”  
  
“No, it’s not—Cerie,” Jimmy winced. Then he leaned in and whispered too, “ _I’m pretty sure she’s dating Jauntis anyway_ . But that’s not the point.”  
  
Steve was confused. “There’s a point?”  
  
“Yeah, it’s—never mind.”  
  
After a while though, his writers figured it out. And so did Liz’s. And so did Jack.  _That_ was probably the most terrifying conversation of his life.  
  
(“As I understand, you are romantically interested in Lemon.”  
  
“Iiiiiiii….”  
  
“Refrain from exaggerating single-syllable words, Mr. Fallon, it is a sign of weakness.”  
  
“Yes. Sir.”  
  
“It’s a difficult task.”  
  
“…Pronunciation?”  
  
“No, you fool,  _Lemon_ .”  
  
“Oh, right, totally. Yes.” Followed by Jack looking him up and down really slowly, then sighing, “She could do better.” After which Jack informed him that if worse came to worse, “ _I know some people_ .”

“Like…trained assassins?”  
  
“No, Jimmy—my contact is simultaneously a fraction as competent and a thousand times as dangerous…” Sharp inhale—“Dick Cheney.”) Basically the only person who hadn’t figured it out yet was Liz.  
  
It took till the Christmas party, where he got really drunk and Jenna got up onstage to perform her new dance techno pop single “Tic Tac” and every employee of NBC was grinding on the dance floor and he leaned really close to Liz Lemon who was refraining from grinding and instead opted for a drunk robot move and he yelled, “Liz, I really like you!” and she said, “What?” and he said, “Liz, I really like you!” and she said “What?” again so he screamed, “ _Liz, I really like you!_ !” and then she nodded and continued her robot.  
  
He stood still for a second. That was not the response he’d expected. “You’re not surprised?” he shouted.  
  
Liz shrugged. “You’re the Late Night host,” she said by way of explanation.  
  
Later they made out on the couch in her office, and she kept her TGS jacket on the whole time. It was awesome.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
They broke up three weeks later when Liz was like, “You’re too young for me.” And Jimmy was like, “Liz, you’re three years older than me,” and she was like, “Yeah, and during those three years I lived through Vietnam, Jimmy. That’s something you can never understand,” and he was like, “Is this this just ’cause you don’t want to have sex with me? Because I really don’t want to put my shirt back on,” and she just screeched, “I need a meat sub before I can process this!!!” and then she kicked him out.  
  
He calls Conan in his office the next day. The first thing Conan says is “Did it happen?”  
  
“Yeah,” Jimmy blubbers. “Why did you ever break up with her, Conan?” Whispering dreamily, “ _She’s perfect_ .”  
  
Conan is dumbfounded—“Break up with  _her_ ?” He scoffs. “Frankly, I’m offended, James, that you would even suggest that. To imply that I would possess such  _immense stupidity_ as to  _give up_ the single best thing that has ever happened in any man’s life, aka Liz Lemon, aka Sugar Baker Woman, aka  _Liebhaber_ —I can’t even listen to this, Jimmy.”  
  
“Are you…” Jimmy frowns, “being sarcastic?”  
  
“Sarcastic?” Conan’s voice goes cold. “Jimmy, I get that we’re comedians, but Elizabeth Lemon is not something to fucking joke about.”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“You think I’m being sarcastic? Is the tattoo on my ass that says ‘Elizabeth’ sarcastic?  _I_ don’t think it’s sarcastic. My  _wife_ certainly doesn’t think it’s sarcastic. The most expensive laser surgeon in New York doesn’t think it’s sarcastic. Huh? Is that heart tattoo on my ass  _sarcastic_ , Jimmy?”  
  
“No, I—no. It’s not.”  
  
“No, Jimmy. It’s not.” Jimmy can practically see him shaking his head in disdain across a continent. Conan clears his throat. “So no, I didn’t break up with Liz Lemon. She dumped me. Stole my heart and tore it up into itty bitty pieces and then stomped on them. And then farted on the pieces. And then, like, shoved the fart bits back into my mouth….Yeah.”  
  
Jimmy shakes his head in disappointment. “Why did it have to happen?” he wonders wistfully.  
  
“You’re the late night host and she’s Liz Lemon,” Conan answered with the voice of a wise Obi Wan. “She was bound to break your heart sometime.”


End file.
